


come from the forest

by yulbos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, F/M, M/M, i mean does a hp witchcraft au really count as an au???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 05:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10529949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yulbos/pseuds/yulbos
Summary: "They call her a witch. They say her name is Lily, and that she walks the woods to talk to demons."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gxldentrio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gxldentrio/gifts).



> i wrote this for my dear friend ria's birthday, so i honestly hope she enjoys this, otherwise i've failed. this was essentially me spending a few hours googling increasingly obscure things about witchcraft that i could've just made up.

They call her a witch. They say her name is Lily, and that she walks the woods to talk to demons.

James wouldn’t know. He’s never officially met her. He’s seen her, though. Seen the constellations of freckles staining her cheeks, chasing each other across her skin; seen the fingernails she chews on when in thought, bitten down so her fingertips always look bloody. She’s all hard plains and sharp angles, despite the softness of her cheeks and the way her mouth curls at the edges, as if she’s in on some joke the rest of the world has yet to catch up on.

He knows she apparently only owns one pair of shoes - a pair of mud-caked Doc Martins with frayed laces that are rarely tied. Knows she spends countless hours tucked in the corner booth of Bagshot’s Brews, one booted foot resting on the other knee, a cup of black coffee in front of her as she flicks through a book.

The smile she gives him when he serves her her coffee is big and bright enough to challenge the sun. It strikes him as odd that someone so radiant could be so unquestionably… disliked by the people around her.

The day she calls him ‘James’ is the day he swears the stars align. It shouldn’t, seeing as he’s wearing a name badge, and she’s pretty much a permanent fixture now, she’s here that often. It startles him though, to the point where his brain virtually short circuits on him. It leaves him so confused that he mumbles “thanks” as he backs away, and then sighs when his brain catches up with his mouth.

The smile Lily gives him makes him think maybe, just maybe, he’s part of the joke.

.

It becomes a bit of a thing; talking to Lily Evans. Oh, it starts out as nothing particularly life changing. Unless pointing out that it’s pissing it down outside again is life changing. James doesn’t think it is, anyway.

But one day she’s sitting in her usual spot, reading a book. That in itself isn’t odd, as she’s always got her nose stuck in a book. This one, however, is an old, dusty tome that looks like it belongs in a museum far more than on a coffee stained table that tilts to the side at the slightest touch. She has a habit, does Lily, of muttering under breath, especially when she’s reading.

So it’s not James’ fault when he recognises what she’s saying. The subsequent freak out isn’t his fault either. The fact he almost drops the cup of coffee he’s carrying onto the book very much is, however. It’s only quick reflexes on both their parts that stop disaster from striking. The look Lily gives him is one of betrayal, as she gently lowers the arm she’d curled over the pages.

“Sorry.” James mutters, shrugging as he places the cup down beside her elbow. His shoulders are tense as he runs a hand through his hair. “The Discoverie of Witchcraft, huh? Isn’t that pretty heavy reading for a Sunday afternoon?”

“Oh, shush.” Lily says. She’s not looking at him, index finger dragging across the page as she reads. He sees the moment his words sink in, because she pauses, finger lifting off the page before she tilts her head to frown at him. “You’ve read it?”

James smiles, and he can tell it’s on the borderline of sheepish, but there’s no way in hell he’s admitting he’s read it, cover to cover, at least six times. Instead, he shrugs again, and this time his shoulders relax a little. “Once or twice. It’s an interesting read.”

“‘Interesting’,” Lily scoffs with a small shake of her head, “it’s so much more than that. It’s… incredible. What Scot did, in a time where talking about this stuff could get you killed, is inspirational.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t believe in it.” James counters. He hears an old woman tutt to herself somewhere behind him, but he doesn’t particularly care. “He just said it wasn’t real. Nothing groundbreaking in that.” If the last sentence is aimed at the old woman, then no one needs to know but himself.

“Maybe so, but he was still vital in pointing out how corrupt it all was.” Lily’s answer is quick, as if she’s always wanted to have this conversation and so has every possible variation planned for.

“Yeah, alright, fair point.” He says and breathes out a sigh. He can feel the eyes of Bathilda, his boss, boring into him from her perch at the counter. He shuffles his feet, ready to go back to his place behind the till, when Lily reaches out. The move itself is this aborted thing, like her hand got halfway to his arm before she realised and stopped it, but it’s enough to make him pause.

“Sit with me?” She asks, scooting the chair over and taking the book with her. She’s careful to avoid knocking the coffee mug, spending a few extra moments straightening the coaster. She’s still looking at the table when she mutters, “I’ve never met anyone who’s even heard of it, let alone read it.”

James looks over his shoulder, meets Bathilda’s eye as she shakes her head at him, and sits down in the chair next to Lily. “I’d love to.”

.

Apparently the fact that he’s spoken actual words to Lily Evans means that he’s in mortal danger now. Which wouldn’t be so bad if the old ladies of Islip would let him live out the rest of his seemingly numbered days in peace. 

The Olds apparently haven’t got this message however, and, either through hive mind or some age restricted memo, have taken it upon themselves to try and ‘save’ him. This mostly involves accosting him in the middle of the high street to tell him he better ‘watch out’. Which, honestly, sounds more like a threat in itself than anything, but James kind of appreciates the sentiment? Moreso when it doesn’t make him late for the hourly bus into town, he’ll admit, but.

It’s on one of these days, as he’s hurrying down the main street to try and catch the bus, cursing Mrs Fenwick under his breath, that he catches Lily coming out of his house. It’s such a strange collision of two very different parts of his life, that it takes him at least thirty seconds to wrap his head around what he’s seeing.

It isn’t until he sees Sirius that it really sinks in. Sirius’ leaning against the front door of their house, hair suspiciously… he wouldn’t go as far as to say ‘messy’, but it certainly isn’t neat. Tousled. That’s the word he’d choose, if his brain was approaching anywhere near functional. 

He watches, far enough away that he doesn’t think they can see him, as Sirius slouches against the door with one hand shoved in the back pocket of his jeans. If James didn’t know him better than he knows himself, it would look natural. From this distance it’s even somewhat believable, but there’s a straightness to his spine that isn’t usually there, and the smirk he’s giving Lily doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

Lily reaches the end of their garden path, and turns as she reaches the gate. She tilts her head, letting her hair fall down over her shoulder. She smiles and offers Sirius a cocky salute. “Thanks, Black.”

“Anytime.” Sirius calls back. He uses his shoulder to push himself off the door, and steps back into the darker hallway. Before he shuts the door, he pauses. “Same time next week, Evans?”

“‘Course.” Lily answers. She waves, turns on her heel and begins walking down the street.

Whatever James had wanted the bus for has completely left him, and he watches as its taillights disappear into the distance. He makes the split-second decision to go home, mostly because he’s tired and hungry, and Sirius had promised to buy him Chinese for dinner.

The gate squeals as he shuts it, black paint flaking off on his fingers. He wipes them off on his jeans as he stomps up the path to the front door and fishes his keys out of his pocket.

The house is quiet, or at least as quiet as it ever is, when he steps into the hall. He kicks his shoes off, not bothering to straighten them, and starts to pad across the old floorboards towards the kitchen.

Sirius sits at their table, head resting on folded arms. His eyes are closed, but his fingers tap against the tabletop. “Afternoon, love.” He says, opening an eye to look at James. “Y’just missed Evans.”

“Oh, yeah?” James asks, his voice as casual as he can make it, but he knows Sirius is onto him with the way his mouth quirks at the corners. “She want anything interesting?”

“A nice cup of tea.” Sirius says, just to be a shit. “Honestly, she wanted to know if we had any books on runes.”

“That all?” James can’t help raising an eyebrow dubiously because Sirius looks like he’s come out the satisfied side of a shag. It’s not jealousy, exactly, that he feels creep up his spine. Sirius has never been the kind of person for monogamy, and that’s okay. James knows Sirius loves him more than anyone, will always love him most, because saying otherwise would be like saying he doesn’t need air, or water, or anything else vital to living.

“Well, I mean…” Sirius trails off, and runs a hand through his hair. “She’s really hot? And nice? And she knows almost as much as you do about ‘The Occult’.” He snorts, and rolls his eyes.

James feels himself smile, and turns around so he can fiddle with the kettle. “D’you give her any?”

“Plenty.” Sirius says dryly, before breaking out into laughter. It grows when James throws a tea bag at him, and then Sirius is behind him, playing with the hem of his t-shirt, mouth very close to the back of his neck, and Lily tucks herself into the far recesses of his brain.

.

James has a soft spot for trouble. He’s known that since he was six years old and he punched Davie Johnson in the face for making fun of “the girly boy”. Sirius still calls him his knight in shining armour for it, much to his embarrassment. So it doesn’t really come as a surprise that Lily fits into the bizarre narrative that is his life as if she’s always been destined to be there. It’s almost seamless, the way she inserts herself into their lives.

That is, until the post starts arriving through their letterbox. The Olds of Islip have been spying, it seems. Which, James assumes, is because they have nothing else going on in their dreary lives. Letters of ‘neighbourly concern’ start finding their way into his entryway. He’d wanted to stop it, when it first started, but as Sirius had said “who do you complain to when everyone’s in on it?”. So he’s grudgingly come to accept that this is just a part of life now, and that the only consolation is that the paper is excellent for starting the fire in the living room.

“‘Evans is trouble, and you should cut her out of your life before she curses your cat’.” James reads one afternoon, strolling into the living room. He’s got the letter, pages upon pages of the thing, held up in front of him as if he’s addressing a royal court, ridiculous voice included. He lowers the paper, enough to see Lily dancing on the coffee table, socks rolled down around her ankles and a bottle of whiskey gripped in one hand.

Sirius lifts his head from where he’s laying on the sofa. “You don’t say.”

Lily sticks her tongue out at him, and takes a drag from the bottle. “You don’t even have a cat.”

Sirius lets his head thump back against the cushions and sighs mournfully. “Not anymore. The move from London didn’t agree with him.”

“Neither did you trying to resurrect him in the back garden.” James says mildly, crumpling the letter up and throwing it at the fireplace. He lifts the cushion Sirius is using as a pillow, and rolls his eyes at Sirius’ grumbling as he sits down.

Sirius sighs when James starts stroking his fingers through his hair and closes his eyes. “Mistakes were made, I’ll admit.”

“Wait, did you really?” Lily asks. She steps down off the coffee table, accepting the hand James offers her, when her foot slips against the glass. She sits on it instead, bottle discarded on the floor as she watches them. “You actually tried to resurrect a cat? Are you mad?”

“No,” Sirius says, as he begins playing with James’ wrist, fingers tapping gently against his skin. “Overconfident.”

“You thought using a spell you found on the internet was good idea.” James mutters with a slight shake of his head.

“They’ve worked before!” Sirius protests, craning his neck so he can frown up at James.

“For smaller things, sure.” James says. He shudders. “I can still smell that bloody garlic.”

“So you’re actually…?” She leaves the question open-ended, gesturing at them with her hand.

“Well, yeah.” James says, a little dumbly.

“I know it looks nice, Evans, but it’d be a bit pointless if we weren’t, wouldn’t it?” Sirius says around a yawn. He wiggles a finger at her. “Now are you coming over here, or not? ‘M tired.”

Lily virtually leaps across the gap, and then stands there uncertainly when Sirius doesn’t move to make room for her. Eventually she just clambers up next to him, pushing him around so she can spoon behind him. He protests a little bit, until she wraps her arm around his waist.

James looks down at them, watches as they kick at each others ankles and grumble at each other. Lily reaches up from where her hand’s tucked under Sirius’ hip, and wraps long fingers around the hand James has in Sirius’ hair.

James strokes his fingers across the back of her hand, and smiles.

.

They call her a witch. They say her name is Lily and that she walks the woods to talk to demons. They’re mostly right. Lily doesn’t talk to demons. And they forget the part where James and Sirius walk with her.


End file.
